


Undisclosed Desires

by VivatRex



Series: Wishful Sinful [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Drowley Smut, Episode: s09e21 King of the Damned, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Top Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivatRex/pseuds/VivatRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a first time for everything, right?</p><p>Dean and Crowley enter new territory... and Dean is worried that his 'arrangement' with the King of Hell might be turning into something deeper, something he can't control.</p><p>One thing's for certain: this won't end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undisclosed Desires

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to post this like a year ago, but it got lost amongst my other projects. Anyway, hey, look at that! More Drowley smut! 
> 
> (Is this my way of dealing with Crowley trying to kill Dean in tonight's episode? Yeah! Yeah it is!)

Red swirled around Dean's feet. Hot water beat against the tight muscles of his back, but did nothing to relieve the tension there. Droplets trailed down his face, blurring his vision on their way before reaching the line of his jaw.

_"_ _Hello, Dean. Love the crazy bloodlust in your eyes. Let's not waste time. I'll take you to Abaddon. It's not far."_

Six hours ago, he'd killed the Queen of Hell.

_"_ _A boy and his Blade… and still no match for the new Queen."_

Stark and vivid images flashed through his mind. Abaddon underneath him, brilliant crimson light flashing underneath her stolen skin. And blood. So much blood. Blood and bone and flesh, rent under the Blade. _His_ Blade. He had lost himself in the fray, in the feral, mindless violence that made his nerves sing and the Mark on his arm burn with pleasure, with fulfillment.

Oh, but he had been a match for her. More than a match.

Dean flexed his hands, staring down at the lines of his palms. He had powers. Telekinesis. Powers like a demon, like a monster, like the things he hunted. The things he hated.

_What the hell am I turning into?_

Dean turned off the water after the last bit of blood swirled down the drain. He'd finished washing himself several minutes beforehand. He stood in the shower for a moment, trying to gather his senses back to him before sliding open the door and stepping out into the steamy bathroom. He grabbed a nearby towel and tied it around his waist.

He needed to calm down. He was over-thinking things. So, the Mark gave him a little extra boost. That didn't mean anything. He may have gone overboard taking out Abaddon, but she was as evil as evil got, and she deserved what she got. Hell, she deserved more.

Dean went to the mirror, rubbing his hand through the condensation and considering himself. Besides the dark circles under his eyes, he looked just the same as ever.

He was human. Of course he was a human – how could he be anything but?

 _Then why have I barely been sleeping, or eating? Why do I always want to kill? Why is murder suddenly as good as sex?_ he argued against himself.

**because this is what you're meant to be**

Dean flinched at the statement made within his own head, the void-deep guttural voice seeming to echo throughout his entire body and resonate in his soul. That voice had been getting stronger and stronger, lately, born in the moment that the Mark and the Blade were reunited through him. At first he had disregarded it as his imagination… but he couldn't fool himself any longer.

It was there, inside of him. And God only knew how much control over him it had.

"Sweetie, you seem upset. Long day at the office?" Arms encircled his waist, two hands coming to rest on his stomach. He breathed in the deep, cinnamon scent he'd grown so accustomed to over the past few months, the scent that carefully masked the reek of sulfur.

What had started out as a few mistakes in the heat of the moment had turned into a full-blown… he didn't know how to label it, other than to call it a mess that was no doubt going to come back and bite him in the ass. Knowing Crowley, quite literally.

"Get out of here, Crowley," Dean growled, low and deep. "I'm not in the mood."

"You're not?" Crowley asked, a hand trailing up his abdominals, halting at his chest. "But how else am I supposed to thank you for that stunning performance earlier today? You saved me, Dean. I'm…" Hand going lower now, brushing just above the towel suggestively. "… _very_ grateful."

"Shouldn't you be with your kid?" Dean asked, trying to ignore the stirring in his stomach. "Your kid that you should've sent back to the 1700s where he belonged?"

The roaming hands paused. "Loathe as I am to play this card… some things you truly can't understand until you're a parent."

Dean turned around, forcing the demon to release him. Crowley was still close – too close for comfort – but he did back up, giving him a small amount of space, which was more than the King usually granted him.

"Yeah, don't feed me the sentimental father bullshit," Dean said. "Gavin sold you out when we summoned his ghost, you were gonna let Bobby spit-roast him. There ain't no love lost between the two of you."

"He's my son," Crowley said, demeanor surprisingly serious. "And one thing that you so very easily forget is that the last time I crossed paths with my dear boy, I was a demon without a trace of humanity, and he was a very bitter, very dead ghost. Times have changed."

"Okay, so maybe you don't hate him, but that don't change the fact that he hates you. So, question is, why'd you save him? This could come back and wreck your whole life. Remember the last time someone we knew messed with the whole time-space deal?"

"If you're referring to when your darling angel had Balthazar un-sink and then re-sink the Titanic, I can assure you that the ripple effect of this – if there even _is_ one – will pale in comparison to that nightmare."

"You hope."

"I know," Crowley said sharply. "And you've no right to lecture me, considering that you've done far worse to the fabric of the universe for your flesh and blood."

"Don't compare Sam and me to whatever messed up thing you've got going on with your kid," Dean said.

"Yes, because you and your brother are just a prime example of functionality nowadays, hmm?"

"Don't start."

"I didn't start anything," Crowley responded, eyebrows raising in annoyance. "Gavin stays in the 21st century. End of story, no need to discuss it any longer."

Dean just rolled his eyes. There was no point in arguing with the King. He was the most stubborn person – demon, whatever – that he'd ever met. He brushed past Crowley, exiting into his bedroom. He took off his towel, using it to dry the damp strands of his hair before tossing it on his bed. He went to his dresser, sorting through his underwear, stark naked.

He could detect Crowley's presence in the threshold of the doorway, watching him.

"You should go," Dean said quietly as he found his favorite pair of underwear.

"I should," Crowley agreed.

In the blink of an eye, Dean was on his bed, Crowley on top of him. The demon's eyes looked predatory in the dim light. Before Dean even had a chance to protest the position, Crowley's mouth was crushed against his, hot and wet. The demon's lips pressed insistently against the militantly set line of Dean's mouth, but when Crowley's hand came up to card almost gently through his hair, he submitted, responding to the kiss.

He never seemed to be able to stop himself from reacting to Crowley.

He put his hands on either side of Crowley's face, stubble scraping his palms. Crowley's fingers trailed down his still-damp chest, drawing patterns here and there. Maybe this would be good for him. It could be a distraction, which was exactly what he needed right now. Being left to his own thoughts and devices would probably not lead anywhere good.

"You shouldn't feel guilty about what you did," Crowley breathed into his mouth, before nipping at his already kiss-swollen bottom lip. "You killed the big bad. You saved me. All in all, I'd rule the day a success."

"Stop talking," Dean growled, diving his hands into the layers of Crowley's clothing, gripping what he could in order to press their bodies more firmly together. He didn't want comforting words, he wanted obliterating touches.

He attacked the demon's mouth with his own, tongue parting Crowley's lips and invading his mouth, taking control of the kiss. It became heated quickly, a need to escape from his dark thoughts. He felt himself growing hard, and Crowley's answering erection was grinding down against him. The layers of clothing separating them quickly became frustrating.

Dean's hands fumbled for Crowley's belt buckle, undoing it after a moment of struggling. He was lost in Crowley's kiss, and it was hard to focus on any other task. Soon, the belt was on the ground, and Dean was tugging Crowley's pants down while Crowley kicked off his dress shoes and toed off his socks.

They almost always did it like this; Crowley could snap away his clothing with a thought, of course, but there was something about the process of it, like unwrapping a present.

Crowley broke their kiss again, much to Dean's consternation. His fingers slid over Dean's collar bone, and he leaned his forehead against Dean's. For a few moments that seemed to last forever, they just shared air, Crowley's hands moving down his chest in a surprisingly gentle exploration.

"The Mark is good for you," Crowley murmured, one hand moving to slide down Dean's arm, knuckles brushing the Mark that was branded there. "Better for you than you will ever know…"

Dean made a frustrated noise, and he slid Crowley's suit jacket off of him, tossing it to the side. He grabbed Crowley by the shoulders and pulled him forcibly down into a searing kiss, thrusting his tongue into the King's mouth, trying to communicate what he wanted, what he needed. He didn't want words – the only sounds he wanted to hear from Crowley were moans, or him gasping out Dean's name like a prayer, screaming it like he was trying to bring the roof down with his voice.

Questing hands paused on his stomach, thumbs digging into the divots of his hip bones. Crowley dragged his crotch over Dean's, eliciting a groan from the hunter that was quickly swallowed by the demon. Teeth grazed his bottom lip, and Crowley's movements suddenly went from uncharacteristically soft to pure lust and need. Crowley's hand grasped his cock, almost too tightly, and he began stroking him, causing Dean to arch up dramatically. Another bite on his lip, harder. Was Crowley thirsty, he wondered? He seemed sober at the moment, not strung out. He hadn't fed on Dean since that night well over a month ago.

"You know why it's good for you, Dean?" Crowley growled lowly, pulling back minutely from Dean.

Crowley's free hand wrapped around the back of his neck, blunt fingernails digging in. Desire overwhelming him, Dean began scrabbling at the buttons of Crowley's silk shirt. After a few infuriating attempts – he couldn't think, not clearly, not with Crowley's hand on his dick and his voice in his ear and scent in his nose, and his heavy breaths filling up the silence in his bedroom – he gave up, instead just grabbing either side of his shirt and tearing it open. Crowley's tie hung awkwardly in the gap, a strange contrast against his bare skin.

"You need the Mark…" Crowley panted as Dean's lips went to his neck, down to his throat, his chest, his nipples. The short hair there tickled his lips. "Just like you need this. You're so empty, Dean, I can see it… but this fills you up. Fucking me, and killing. Very primal, wouldn't you say so?"

"Stop," Dean pleaded.

"Stop?" Crowley echoed, releasing Dean's dick. Dean growled, and on a whim, he grabbed Crowley's tie and suddenly pulled it tight, tight enough to cause Crowley to emit a choked sound. Dean drew the King's face towards his, almost close enough for their lips to touch, but not quite. Crowley's face slowly began to turn red, but Dean knew that he was allowing this to happen – Crowley was stronger than him.

_Or is he? You took down the Queen of Hell – why not the King, too?_

"I'm not in the mood to be psychoanalyzed. There're better things you can do with your mouth," Dean ordered, trying to put strength into his voice in spite of his throbbing, burning need.

To his surprise, Crowley laughed. The demon raised his hand, and snapped his fingers. Suddenly, Crowley's remaining clothing was gone, including his tie, and he was grabbing Dean's wrists and pinning them above his head. "Oh, Dean… there's that bloodlust in your eyes, again. Nothing turns me on more than you trying to get all dominating on me, but when will you learn?" Crowley leaned down, and he licked Dean's lower lip, but to Dean's dismay, didn't kiss him.

"Crowley-"

Another press of dick to dick. Dean threw his head back and moaned. Crowley took the opportunity to leave a trail of kisses along Dean's bared neck, before replacing his lips with his hands, and suddenly, Crowley was sitting up and wrapping his relatively small hands around Dean's throat, pressing hard, too hard – Dean couldn't breathe.

Crowley's mouth turned into a jagged white smile. His eyes flashed Crossroads red, red like blood. The world began to swim around him. "You need to face death to feel alive, my darling. It's the only thing that makes you feel anything at all."

His hands wrapped around Crowley's wrists. "St-" he wasn't able to get the word out. Black was creeping in on his vision. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, and for some reason he was still hard, even though he was half-sure that Crowley was actually trying to kill him.

He hated him. God but he hated him, because he was right. Everything was a void, now, except for when the Blade was in his hand… or when he was with Crowley.

Finally, blissfully, Crowley released his throat. Dean spluttered and coughed, and he knew he would have bruises from the demon's hands the next day. Crowley wouldn't heal the marks; the demon liked leaving him torn up and bruised, liked claiming him as his own, liked leaving Dean to explain away the injuries to Sam.

"We're doing things differently tonight," Crowley said, eyes fading back to dark green and glittering hungrily. "Tonight, I'm going to take you… I'm going to make you feel _alive_ , Dean." Crowley's hands went to his thighs, gripping tightly and jerking him forward. He pushed his knees up, leaving Dean open and exposed in a way he was positive he didn't like.

"Whoa. Hey. That's not– that isn't part of the deal."

"I've let you have your way with me for over two months now, love, but I think you've known the whole time that isn't how I usually do things." Crowley trailed a hand down Dean's chest, returning mercifully to his cock and stroking him, albeit slowly. "I was easing you into it, into this. I'd say it's time we take it to the next level."

Crowley snapped his free hand again, and lube was suddenly coating his fingers. "Crowley, there is no way I'm going to let you- oh FUCK."

There were two fingers. Inside of him. Moving. Dean grabbed Crowley's biceps, entire body seizing up. Crowley looked at him, his eyes sparkling in the low light of Dean's bathroom, a strange kind of seriousness in his expression. "You're losing yourself," Crowley said simply. "You need someone to take care of you, Dean. Let me."

Dean grimaced. No. Whatever it was between him and Crowley, it was not about… about _caring_. It was about release, lust, desire, about pure, unadulterated _need_.

Or had it been more than that? The first time they were together, Dean had come to save Crowley from himself. To get him better. Because he…

No. Not going there. He didn't care– no, he _couldn't_.

Kisses to the backs of his knees, his thighs. Dean closed his eyes. The sensation was tight, and it burned slightly. It was uncomfortable without being wholly unpleasant.

"You haven't breathed in over a minute," Crowley observed as he continued his ministrations, one hand inside of him and one hand attending to the outside, increasing the speed of his strokes incrementally. "This is going to hurt if you don't relax."

"I never agreed to this." Dean's hands left Crowley's arms, thumping down on the bed. His body was a mess of confusion. He was still fully aroused, with the attention Crowley was paying to his dick, but the fact that part of Crowley's body was _inside of him_ , albeit only his digits, was something he found overwhelming.

"And yet you haven't tried to stop me." Crowley added another finger. Dean let out a surprised groan, tightening his hands into the sheets, but obeying Crowley's advice and making sure to try to keep his breaths even, though it was difficult.

"Like I could," Dean managed, his voice the very definition of strained.

"I've never done anything you haven't wanted," Crowley said, gently setting his teeth on Dean's thigh and biting lightly there.

"I don't want this!" he protested.

Crowley smirked up at him.

And then he hooked his fingers.

"FUCK."

"What was that, Dean?" A thrust of his hand, and there was that feeling again– the lightning bolt straight to his cock that made his body sing. "You want me to stop?"

"What… what the hell was that?"

"Let's save the anatomy lesson for later. For now, suffice it to say that it's something that will make you feel very, very good."

A few more thrusts of Crowley's hand, and in spite of himself, Dean moaned. God, that was… he couldn't describe it. It still felt wrong on some level, but with all of his nerves singing in pleasure at the sensation, he couldn't very well tell Crowley to stop. Mainly because he no longer wanted him to.

"Crowley…"

He went deeper. Harder. Dean felt a heavy kind of swelling in the pit of his stomach, like a pool of heat growing and spreading there. "Yes, love?"

"Don't stop."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Crowley continued to thrust his hand inside of him, and Dean began to anticipate each movement, canting his hips in time with them. He was panting, and it was difficult for him to hold back the moans that built in his throat. He wasn't going to be a girl about this. If he was actually going to take another dude's cock up his ass, he was going to do it with his masculinity intact.

Eventually, Crowley removed his hand from Dean's body. The demon's hand still pumped his cock, but the other merely rested on his hip, still slick with lube. He was going to need another shower after this. Dean growled in frustration, lifting his head to glare at the demon. He felt the loss of his touch harder than he imagined; it felt like someone punched him in the abdomen.

Crowley kissed his way back up his body, lips leaving burning hot reminders wherever they touched his skin. Hands skated up his side, caressing and gentle. Everything with the demon seemed to give him whiplash. One second Crowley could almost be human, the next second he was once again the cold, calculating King of Hell. One moment his attentions would be hard, demanding, and possessive, but just moments later they could turn soft and loving.

Loving. No. Not loving. That was something that would never be a part of what he and Crowley had. Of that much, he was sure. He clung to that much. He could sleep with a demon, but he could never love one.

Crowley's mouth was at his throat, and the answer of whether Crowley was sober or not was answered. He kept his teeth back, merely kissing and lathing his tongue over the expanse of his neck. Tasting his skin, but with seemingly no desire to taste his blood.

"You're clean," Dean observed. Crowley didn't respond. "Don't… don't drink any."

"Wasn't planning on it," Crowley whispered, his hot breath dancing across the skin just underneath Dean's ear.

"I shouldn't have let you before," Dean said, chest heaving. Crowley withdrew, meeting his eyes. The demon's gaze was crystal clear. Ice cold sober. "I told you I was gonna save you. I meant it. You're better than the blood."

Crowley merely watched him. He reached up to touch his temple with a surprising amount of tenderness, tracing his fingers down the side of Dean's face. He leaned down and gave Dean a brief, half-chaste kiss. "And they say romance is dead."

"Crowley…" he didn't mean for it to come out like a whine, but it did. Crowley jerking him off wasn't enough. He needed him… he needed to feel him.

Crowley's lips hovered barely an inch away from his. They shared breath for a few moments. "Are you ready, Dean?"

"I… yeah."

"If it's too much, tell me. If you need me to go slower, tell me. If you need me to stop, tell me," the demon told him as he shifted so he could position the head of his cock at Dean's entrance. Dean was surprised by the instruction, but he nodded in response. He would tell him. Yes.

Crowley pushed in the head with a careful shunt of his hips. Dean gasped at the strange sensation. Crowley finally released Dean's cock, which was leaking at this point, and put both hands on his face, kissing him over and over again as he slowly but surely pushed himself deeper inside of Dean. Dean's heart slammed into his rib cage so hard it seemed to shake him.

It hurt. But it was a good kind of pain. It grounded him. Made him feel like _him_. Most importantly of all, it made him _forget_.

"I know it hurts… you're doing well, Dean, so well…"

He couldn't remember the last time Crowley had called him Squirrel. He used his name, now, like some hidden secret that only the two of them knew. Dean wrapped his arms around Crowley's back, one hand resting at the top of his spine and the other at the base. He held on desperately as he felt that final _give_ , that kind of break inside of him as Crowley sheathed himself fully within him.

It was… indescribable, having someone else inside of him, buried deep like Crowley was. It was, without a doubt, the most intimate thing he had ever experienced. Was this how it felt for Crowley every time they'd done this? Like something sacred, almost, something special and impossibly connecting?

"Oh, God…"

"Crowley will do," the demon breathed out, leaning his forehead against Dean's. Dean wanted to look him in the eye, but Crowley's were shut tight. He'd yet to move.

"Crowley, I need-" He couldn't finish.

The demon's eyes opened, dark green drilling into him. "Say it."

"I- I need you to move."

Crowley smiled at him, and the warmth in it surprised him. He leaned down and kissed Dean, a slow, deep and languid one. Then, he began to move. It was a gentle rhythm, but it still had Dean gasping. Crowley fucked him precisely, and stars danced underneath eyelids that slipped shut.

The world became sensation; the exact and earth-shattering thrust of Crowley inside of him, the slide of the demon's skin against his, the hot press of Crowley's lips against his own... and soon enough, a soothing hand in his hair.

It hurt, but...

...but it was so damn _good_.

The pain faded before long; he could only feel so much at once, and pleasure eventually won out over the tight, aching stretch. He lost himself in it, hands scrambling up and gripping on mindlessly to Crowley's shoulders, holding onto him like his life depended on it.

Crowley's hand framed his jaw, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, harder. His thumb brushed over Dean's cheek bone, and he started moving faster. Dean dug in his blunt nails, breaking Crowley's skin.

Things blurred together, and all Dean knew was Crowley and the building, burning heat inside of him.

Until: "Open your eyes, Dean."

He didn't obey the rasp in his ear, not at first. Because he was good at denial, at blissful ignorance, but even he couldn't ignore it anymore, ignore _this_.

_This doesn't feel like we're just fucking._

It felt like it meant something, and that terrified the hell out of him.

Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could still pretend.

Crowley repeated the request through bared teeth. He cupped Dean's face in his hands and added a single, desperate, _"Please."_

He didn't want to, didn't want to face it, face _him_ , but...

Dean opened his eyes, and was met by the pine green of Crowley's own staring into him, cutting deep. There was hurt there, a million things, but he could somehow _taste_ the pain on the demon.

"What's-" _wrong_ was supposed to be the next word out of him, but Crowley clamped a hand over his mouth.

"Don't," he whispered. " _Don't_. Please. Just... just look at me."

So he did, and Crowley went in deeper, harder, faster, never looking away. The King was bare in front of him, like he was ripped down raw and bleeding, everything on the inside exposed.

He almost looked... human?

With one final thrust from Crowley, Dean came, vision whiting out and a scream tearing out of him, snuffed out by Crowley's palm. He lost himself for a few seconds, just feeling. And _fuck_ , it felt perfect.

With three more pushes, Crowley finally broke their eye contact, burying his face in Dean's neck and following him right off the cliff. Heat spread and spilled in Dean. A thrill of disgust warred with an overwhelming wave of intimacy. Crowley groaned into Dean's skin, wrapping his arms around him and holding on tight.

They hung like that for an indeterminable amount of time; exhausted, wet, and spent, with Crowley softening inside of him.

Eventually, Crowley withdrew, slipping out and away from him. Dean felt a tangible loss. Crowley put his hand on his cheek again, eyes locked.

Dean went to speak, but before he could, Crowley was gone, and he was alone.


End file.
